Art of War
by BloodMoonNights
Summary: AU. "Hey! Hey Braginski!" Alfred called across the way, effectively snapping Ivan from his thoughts. He cocked an eyebrow at Alfred's frantically waving hand. Slowly he lifted his own and gave a small acknowledging wave. "Whatcha up to?" the boy called.
1. Chapter 1

_A/N: This is my first Hetalia faniction. I decided to give it a try, and I hope you like it! It is an AU, and RussiaxAmerica pairing. Haven't decided on any others, but I'm open to suggestions. There will be man love at some point, probably-definite smooching. YoungAlfred! Older/TeacherIvan. The characters will be slightly OOC, but I'll be fixing it in later chapters. For instance, Ivan is fairly chill in this chapter- but he has a temper, and I will show it. _

_I'll be continuing my SP ones soon, as well as putting some new ones up! Thanks, and please review!_

X

Ivan Braginski watched the party across the apartment walkway from his balcony. He idly puffed at his cigarette, leaning back in his rather comfy outdoor chair. He had one leg crossed over the other, and the one planted on the floor bounced occasionally in tune with the music that wafted through the complex. The bass was loud and frenzied, so he could only assume it was this new thing called 'dubstep' that most young adults were into.

The wind picked up and ruffled his platinum blonde hair, and he shut his eyes taking in the nice feeling. It was hot outside tonight, he mused to himself as he finished off his smoke and put it out in the ashtray on the small table next to him.

It was a Friday and he was all alone, how sad. He was only twenty-eight, wasn't that still young enough to go out and have a nice time? He supposed it wasn't, but the idea of mingling with anyone in a club gave him the creepy crawlies. Ivan half wondered if he could get into the party that was resonating from the Kirkland flat across from him. He saw young men and ladies going in and out of the balcony- red cups sloshing about with mixed drinks, or passing what he expected was marijuana to one another and laughing loudly and vibrantly. His brow creased; certainly they would not let someone like him in.

Ivan Braginski was tall and broad; his body well-muscled from the rigorous exercise routine he pushed himself to do every morning, and only slightly husky because he had to eat so much to keep on the muscle and stay away from the fat. He supposed he was good looking: nice jawline, nice mouth, fierce purple eyes (something women were intrigued by almost at once). But, he had a rather large nose reminiscent of his Russian heritage; that didn't mare his features but accentuated them and made him look exotic. It also made him look intimidating. Even when he tried to smile and be friendly he seemed to put out some sort of aura that frightened people, and made them nervous.

Even his co-workers at the museum he worked for were nervous around him. But, thankfully, he was very good at his job as curator of the local museum. He had graduated with a Master's degree in history, and had numerous papers published for the academic community. In short, he was respected, admired, and that the same time feared. He loved his job though, and couldn't imagine not being able to teach a group of children the history they needed to know for the future. Toris Lorinaitis, the receptionist at the museum desk who handled the paperwork and the inquiries of visitors, often said he was better than any history book he was given in school. Ivan thought that was sweet of him to say.

So, no, Ivan was sure he would not be welcomed at this bacchanalia of debauchery. He absently reached for the glass of vodka next to the ashtray and chugged it. He continued to stare at the party across the way, remembering when he was that young, and when he was a party-goer who could outdrink anyone.

A figure appeared on the abandoned balcony (everyone else had gone inside when some albino gentleman had screamed, "SHOTS FOR EVERYBODY!" and they had gone running). It was a young boy with luminous blonde hair and askew glasses he was attempting to fix. He leaned himself over the balcony, humming loudly enough for Ivan to hear from where he sat- which wasn't too far, but far enough. The Russian cocked his head and squinted his eyes to figure out whom it was and if he had seen them before. The boy looked up and grinned in Ivan's direction.

Oh.

Alfred F. Kirkland-Jones smiled and waved enthusiastically at Ivan from where he stood; now jumping on his tip-toes to be noticed by the older man. Alfred was twenty-one years old and lived in that apartment with his younger brother Matthew and his father Arthur Kirkland. Ivan had only met the family a few times, mostly in the mail room or in the parking lot. Pleasantries exchanged and curt nods and all that. They were nice enough people. Arthur was a single father who worked overseas quite often as CEO of some large company Ivan could not recall. He made good money, so it was beyond Ivan why they lived in an apartment even if they were the nicest in town. Alfred and Matthew attended the local college in town, and whenever their father would leave for weeks on end they would throw wild parties for their college friends.

Matthew was the responsible brother, from what Ivan gathered. He was shy and soft-spoken with glasses that masked his blue eyes. Ivan saw him a few times at the museum and they talked for quite some time about the artifacts on display and what courses he suggested Matthew take to become an archaeologist. Ivan liked Matthew. Matthew knew respect and was dedicated to his school work. He doubted Matthew was even in the apartment or knew of the party being thrown by his older brother.

Alfred was something else entirely. Ivan found him to be intriguing in ways his brother never would be. From what the elder man could tell, Alfred was just as bright as his brother but he never tried in school. Sometimes at night Arthur could be heard scolding his eldest son about his abysmal grades, and why couldn't he just try harder when they were paying this much for an education? Ivan would listen and could not agree more, though he would never say anything to the family.

Alfred worked part-time at a small coffee shop near Ivan's museum. Once or twice the boy had popped in to chat with Ivan about everything from weather to what it was like in communist Russia where he grew up. He was loud, and he was rambunctious. He was untamed and wild in ways Ivan would never understand, but deeply wished he could. Alfred had eyes like ice that, unlike Matthew's, shone brightly beneath his glasses. He had a perfectly handsome face, with near perfect features and a body that was apparently able to eat whatever without gaining any ounce of fat. He was the typical American teenager with a penchant for playing the hero.

"Hey! Hey Braginski!" Alfred called across the way, effectively snapping Ivan from his thoughts. He cocked an eyebrow at Alfred's frantically waving hand. Slowly he lifted his own and gave a small acknowledging wave. "Whatcha up to?" he called over, leaning his chin into one of his hands and dangling the other over the balcony.

"Uh, hello Alfred. I was just enjoying the night air, and having a cigarette."

"Smoking is bad for you, ya know." He grinned at the older man, showing his perfectly straight white teeth.

"Да, but you do not seem to mind it." He pointed to the cigarette butts that were all over his balcony floor. Alfred looked down and let out a loud laugh. Ivan's purple eyes widened. "Does your father know you are having a party?" Ivan asked in an attempt to make conversation. Alfred looked back at the Russian and his face once more broke out into a sly grin.

"What he doesn't know won't hurt him, right? Why? You gonna rat me out?" there was some mocking in his voice, and Ivan found himself slightly taken aback by the forwardness of Alfred. Then again, this _was_ Alfred. Someone from inside poked their head out and spoke something to Alfred who nodded and said something back. Ivan could not hear them, but he knew their conversation was coming to a close. "Duty calls. Don't tell dad, okay? I'll owe you one!" Alfred teased, winking at Ivan and turning on his heel to hurry inside.

As the glass door slammed shut Ivan found that he had been at the edge of his balcony, handing onto the banister with both hands. What did Alfred mean _owe_ him? He had no intention of telling anything to anyone. He liked his quiet existence, thank you very much, and he wasn't going to cause any trouble for anyone.

Pondering these questions he picked up his empty glass of vodka and headed inside. He placed the glass in the sink and headed for his small bedroom in the back corner of the apartment. He had a tour tomorrow at the museum, and staying up late would not help. He stripped down to his boxers and crawled in bed, letting the bass across the way lull him into sleep.

X

Ivan nodded curtly to the rest of the people on his tour as they thanked him for his time and knowledge. He always liked helping inform people who otherwise would not get the chance to see some of the things he could offer. It was not a thankless job, most of the time, and for that he appreciated every 'thank you' that came his way. Once the last one left the door he rubbed the back of his neck and let out a sigh. He glanced over at the information desk and saw Toris chatting with someone who looked oddly familiar.

Ivan fixed his tie and began to turn and walk to his office where he would pack up his bag and leave early for the day. There was not another scheduled tour for the day, and there was no point in him being there when he could be home or running errands. He got two steps towards his destination when his ears were assaulted by someone loudly shrieking his name.

"Braginksi!" Alfred F. Jones ran after him, his hair the usual disheveled mess and his glasses striving to stay on his face. He wore a red hoody, and blue jeans that were frayed at the end. Ivan turned around just in time to almost be knocked into by the boy. Alfred doubled over to catch his breath before straightening back up abruptly and smiling once more at the Russian. "Can I ask you something, real quick?" his eyes searched Ivan's for some answer, and they were practically begging for a second of his time.

Ivan felt his face flush at being looked at like that, but he nodded. "Да, follow me," he said, hoping his voice didn't sound as flustered as he felt in that moment. Alfred fist pumped the air then shoved his hands in his hoody pockets and followed in line behind Ivan. They walked down a small hallway where Ivan used his key card to unlock a door that read: Employees Only.

Ivan had been given his own office by the muesum's owner, Roderich Edelstein. Roderich was a nice man, not much older than Ivan himself. He had inherited the museum from his grandfather and treated his employees well, making sure they got whatever they needed to make the experience in the museum the best possible. This even meant giving most of them their own office. Ivan's was located towards the back. He unlocked it with a key that was also attached to his key card and opened the door, allowing Alfred to walk in first.

The young boy thanked him and looked around excitedly. "This is awesome!" he said breathlessly looking at everything in the office. Ivan shrugged; he didn't see what was so great. It was medium sized and adorned with a filing cabinet, a nice desk and chair, and a computer to work on when time permitted. It even had a little water machine and a mini fridge in the corner. On his wall he had posted pictures from Russia, and of his two sisters Natalia and Katyusha. Alfred was examining the ones of his family together while Ivan filled a small paper cup with water.

"Are these your sisters?" he pointed to a picture on a wall. Ivan stared at it as he sat down. It was one of the last times he had visited home, about five years ago. They were standing in front of some field that Ivan couldn't remember, and he was squeezed in between both his siblings. Natalia clung to his arm tightly, her nails had dug into his coat and he had tried not to wince in the photo; Katyusha was laughing at something, her hands covering her face that was alight with a healthy blush. Ivan looked awkward.

"Д- Да. That one on the left is my younger sister Natalia. The other one is my elder, her name is Katyusha. They are both back home in Russia. I am hoping to bring them over here when I save up enough money."

"That is very noble of you." Alfred said, still staring at the pictures.

Ivan didn't know why, but he was pleased that Alfred found him noble. He coughed into his hand, realizing he was being silly at being flattered by a twenty-one year old high school student. "Stupid", he muttered to himself.

"What is it you needed, Alfred?" Ivan said, not really growing tired of the silence but wanting to say something to the boy. Alfred turned to him and his mouth made a perfect o before he sat down in the extra seat across from Ivan. He leaned in, smiling that perfect smile once more. Ivan felt his heart skip, and he wondered to himself what was wrong with him.

"I need your help."

"Well, I shall help you in any way I can."

"I'm failing my history course."

"Oh. That is most unfortunate, Да? History is so wonderful, don't you think?" he said with more enthusiasm than he meant. Alfred gave him an amused smirk and Ivan felt himself get red at getting more excited than needed.

"Would you be my tutor? Because, like, Mattie is never home and he already has enough on his plate. And dad is always at work. And I was thinking: who would have the awesome prowess in history to teach the super awesome Alfred Jones? And then it hit me! Like, you!"

"Me?" Ivan said, flattered once more.

"Yeah! I mean, Да. That's yes, right?" Alfred asked narrowing his eyes in slight confusion. Ivan let out a small chuckle- kolkolkolkol- and nodded.

"Да." He smiled the best he could. Alfred looked slightly taken aback by the action.

"You have kind of a creepy laugh, Ivan. D'you know that? Right! So, would you be able to? I mean, not to sound creepy but I totally know you get out every day at 6, and you have Wednesdays and Sundays off usually. You run every morning, so like we could work around all that! I figure we could set up a time for me to come over and we could hash it out. You teach me, y'know, and the way you teach all those kids that come in here. It's totally an awesome plan. What do you say?" he was leaning so far forward his hands were on the edge of Ivan's desk. The Russian simply stared at the younger boy not knowing what to say.

He'd never been propositioned with something like this; teaching children during a tour was one thing, but he was not a tutor. Still, it was very nice to get the compliment, and he didn't particularly want to say no. "I would be honored to help you pass your class, Alfred. However, I am not a tutor. What if I let you down, hmm?" he said, leaning forward to mimic Alfred.

The younger boy let out a laugh and bit his lip, "You won't. I know you won't. So, will you?" his eyes went into puppy-dog mode again and Ivan felt all his willpower go out the window. Ivan was not sure how this would go, but at that moment he didn't care.

"Да. I'll teach you."

TBC.


	2. Chapter 2

Art of War Chapter 2

"What? You mean Mr. Braginski is going to be tutoring you now?" Matthew said, sliding another pancake onto his brother's empty plate. He'd just put three on the plate less than five minutes ago; where did Al put them? Honestly. Matthew glanced at his brother out of the corner of his eye as he wolfed down that one pancake. Poor thing never saw it coming, Matthew thought as he poured more batter onto the griddle.

Alfred gulped and took a loud sip of his milk before answering. "Yeah, man! He was so cool about it. HEY!" he practically bellowed while slamming his fists onto the table. Matthew jumped and flipped a pancake too soon, making part of it fly up and the other stick to the hot surface. "Can you make some more of these? I'll totally bring it to Ivan's apartment! He's almost back from his run so-"

"It is very disturbing how you know that, Al…" Matthew sighed while taking out a plate and some tin foil to cover the pancakes when they were done.

"Whatever. I'm the hero. And he'll need some food if he is going to start being my tutor. I'm saving his life, Mattie, and you are too. This is heroic shit right here." Alfred said, smiling maniacally. Matthew smiled back softly to himself. It was cute, he mused, how Alfred was determined to be everyone's hero. He'd had that complex since before they could walk; he was so locked on the idea of pleasing everyone he came in contact with. It was sweet if not a little overwhelming at times.

Matthew finished his work in silence and slid five pancakes onto the platter he'd set out, covered them with tinfoil then went to fetch a Tupperware for the syrup. Once he had completed this he turned to tell Alfred. But his brother was already waiting, and snatched the plate and Tupperware from Matt's hand before racing out the door. Matthew watched him go, amused. A second later Alfred popped his head back in and said, "Thanks bro!" before darting off down and across the way to Mr. Braginski's apartment.

X

Ivan rubbed his temples as he poured over paperwork. He pushed his glasses up his nose, annoyed at how they always fell down. Roderich had asked if he wouldn't mind going over a few records to help Toris out. Of course he couldn't just say no, and it was not like he had anything else to do on a Sunday night. He had completed his nightly run, and taken a shower before sitting down with a drink to work on the task at hand. His hair dripped down onto the paper, and he ran his fingers through it just to keep it from tangling. Ivan reached for his glass of vodka when there was an obnoxious knock on his door, startling him so badly he sloshed some onto his t-shirt.

"Damnit," he growled, staring at the spill soaking into his shirt. With a small sigh he got up from his kitchen table and headed for the door. He opened it, eyes still focused on the spill, when a voice brought him completely from his thoughts.

"Ivan! I brought you food!" Alfred Jones smiled at him while holding a plate and a small Tupperware filled with….something. Ivan blinked stupidly at the boy. Alfred smiled that wonderful smile he must have perfected in the mirror. What was he doing here this late? And with food? Not that he was complaining- he hadn't had time to pick up any groceries and so he forfeited the idea of a home cooked meal for the night. "Matthew was making pancakes, and he makes them really good you see, so I thought hey! Ivan must be hungry after all that running he does and I totally wanted to bring you some! They're blueberry." He finished with a cock of his head and outstretched the plate.

Alfred couldn't help but notice Ivan. It was hard not to, to be honest. The guy was a giant! Alfred found himself staring at his face, and the way his hair was plastered to his head; small beads of water glided down his skin, but he didn't reach to wipe them away, and Alfred found himself wanting to. Weird thought, he mentally scolded before continuing his eye-assault. Alfred had never seen Ivan wear glasses, but he thought they were pretty cute even if they did cover his super awesome amethyst eyes. Ivan looked comfortable in a plain white t-shirt and gray sweatpants, but with that odd scarf he wore all the time. Alfred attempted to remember if he'd ever not seen his neighbor in a suit, or at least dressed up. He couldn't, and so gave up.

Realizing he was staring Alfred shook his head to rid himself of those thoughts. Ivan was still looking dumbfounded. "You…brought me food?" Ivan asked slowly as if tasting the words. Alfred nodded, blushing a little bit. "That is…very sweet of you. Please, come in." he moved out of the way to allow the younger boy in. Alfred glided past Ivan and walked to the kitchen to put the plate down. At first glance Alfred noticed that Ivan's apartment was a mirror image of his, at least layout wise.

The walls were painted a beige color, and he decorated minimally. His kitchen was clean and orderly, but Alfred took special notice of the Russian vodka lining the perimeter near the ceiling. He'd never seen so many bottles, and they all looked huge and amazing. He found himself staring in awe.

"You should shut your mouth or you'll attract flies, da?" Ivan asked with amusement light in his voice as he peeled away the tinfoil. Alfred's head shot to him and he smirked. He returned to examining the house: living room was just beyond the kitchen with a small, circular table and four chairs off to the side; he had a small but comfortable looking couch and a side table. His television was mounted on the wall, and a media stand with movies and a game system were underneath. Everything was neat and organized, and Alfred wondered if Ivan's room was the same.

Ahh, he thought, why am I imagining his room? He grimaced and turned only to be handed a plate of pancakes covered in syrup. "Oh, thank you." Alfred mumbled and followed Ivan to the table. They sat across from each other and Alfred watched as Ivan took a first tentative bite. "They're awesome, right?" Alfred asked, all of his former glibness returning.

Ivan nodded; they were very good. "Tell Matthew thank you for me, da? I'll have to make him blinis sometimes to make up for this hospitality."

"I helped!" Alfred interjected before asking, "What's a blini?"

Another mouthful gone and Ivan was feeling very content. "A blini is a Russian pancake. Usually they are thin, and you can put things like honey, jam, or sour cream on them. My elder sister would make them for Natalia and I sometimes; buckwheat ones, actually." He realized he was rambling as he ate and cast an awkward look to Alfred who just smiled with his chin in his hands. "Also, thank you for bringing these to me. I was actually starving. You saved my life," he added.

Alfred perked up at this. "I'm the hero, so like no worries." He felt good at being thanked by Ivan, but he wasn't really sure why. This was a different feeling than being thanked by other people. It felt nicer; more appreciated. "What were you doing?" he asked, pointing to the amount of folders scattered on the table. Ivan placed his fork down and followed Alfred's movement.

"Oh, I am helping Toris with some work."

"You're just a helpful kind of guy, aren't you?" he grinned. Ivan shrugged, looking away for a second. "When can we start the tutoring? I have a big test coming up next month, and if I make an A I will have at least some chance of passing." He idly twirled a piece of hair with his index finger. Ivan nodded, taking a swig of vodka. Alfred eyed it with curiosity.

"Would you like some? It's Russian; I had it imported, and it is very refreshing." He handed the glass to Alfred who stared into it. "I do not have, what is it? The _cooties_, if you are worried." Alfred lit up with blush and scoffed before chugging the remainder. Ivan almost warned him of the potency but in the end decided to let it all play out.

Alfred sputtered his face now a deeper shade of red. He felt like he had chugged straight rubbing alcohol, and his vision blurred for just a second. Ivan was chuckling under his breath, and Alfred glared at him. "That was not okay, man." He grumbled, eating a pancake to try to get the taste out of his mouth.

"You are just not used to real vodka. That American crap is like water. Not good." Ivan said, picking up his plate and Alfred's now empty one to put it in the dishwasher. Alfred got up and followed him. "It will hit you in a few minutes, Mr. Jones. Should I help you home?" Ivan offered, looking Alfred over with a worried expression.

"Nahh, I'll be okay. I like your glasses."

Ivan's cheeks flushed. "Cпасибо. I do not much like wearing them, but to read I have to." He fumbles with them and eventually decides to place them on the counter. Alfred picks them up and takes his own off. Ivan's are squarer; they look way fancier than his. While his are brown rimmed, rectangular, and sit just under his eyes Ivan's are square and black and classy as fuck. Alfred puts them on without asking and hands his own to Ivan who just stares blankly. "What are you doing, Mr. Jones?" Ivan asks taking the other boys glasses.

"Seeing things from your perspective. Holy shit; commie vision!" he spins, and stumbles and in this way he falls with his back to Ivan's chest. Alfred looks up, smiling and giving no indication that he will be moving without being asked to. Ivan pushes the younger boy off of him, feeling devoid of the warmth that he had been supplied with for a single moment, and put on Alfred's own spectacles. He decides he will ignore the communist remark for now.

Alfred is incredibly blind, and Ivan feels dizzy with them on. He leans into the counter. "You are an odd child, Mr. Jones."

"Alfred."

"Hmmm?" Ivan holds Alfred's glasses in his hands. Alfred is suddenly very close, and the Russian wondered when he in such a tight proximity of him without him realizing.

"Call me Alfred. Mr. Jones makes me feel all old." "Er, da. Okay. Alfred." The words feel foreign. He weighs them on his tongue and decides that he kind of likes it. "And I'll call you Ivan! See? We're friends!" he smiles up at Ivan. Friends? Ivan isn't sure that is entirely appropriate, but something in him abandons that thought in lieu of a happy, warm feeling curling and uncurling inside him. Ivan reaches out and grabs back his glasses; Alfred blushes and then reaches for his own on the counter. Neither move from their close proximity to one another, and neither break eye contact. Alfred begins to feel dizzy and decides it is time to go.

"Uhm, well, I'll see you later then! Glad you enjoyed the food. Thanks for the vodka. It was actually pretty good." He moves away from Ivan and heads for the door. As soon as Alfred leaves Ivan finds himself sliding down his counter and onto the floor. Idly, mostly for something to do, he fumbles with his scarf.

X

That night Alfred had a dream about Ivan Braginski. It was very odd, considering most of Alfred's dreams were about him saving the world Avenger's style. In the dream Alfred and Ivan were playing video games on what Alfred assumed was Ivan's bed. The rest of the world was blurry except for the two of them and the television before them. In their laps they each had a handle of vodka that they would sip from when they lost.

"You are going down, Mr. Jones." Ivan said, starting another round of the obscure fighting game. Alfred scoffed, and took a swig from his handle. Everything seemed muddled, but his senses were on high alert when it came to the body next to him.

"Don't call me that, man. And it is you who is going to eat my dust, communist bastard!" Alfred began his on screen assault. The two sat in silence, concentrating on the game at hand as if their lives depended on the outcome. And, maybe it did. A moment later Ivan's character screamed and the words PLAYER ONE: VICTORY flashed across the screen. Alfred tossed down his controller, got onto his knees and put his face right into Ivan's. "Ooooooh! Take that, commie! Another victory for the hero." Alfred smiled satisfactorily.

Ivan's amethyst eyes crinkled and his face contorted into a grin. Alfred finds that his face is getting hotter, and glares back at the Russian. Ivan reaches out and touches Alfred's face, lacing his long fingers in the blonde locks and pulls Alfred in like a fish on a hook. Alfred Jones does nothing, but let's himself be pulled to the older gentleman. Ivan's lips brush lightly over Alfred's, and the younger boy stiffens. This is wrong, his brain screams. His body, however, had another idea. Alfred had a vague idea that he was falling backwards onto the bed, and then he felt Ivan's weight atop him. With a twist of his head Ivan deepened the kiss, his tongue tracing the younger boy's lips. Alfred gasped his mouth opening in shock and compliance… And then he woke up.

X

Sweat dripped down the bridge of Alfred F. Jones' nose, his blonde hair plastered to his forehead and cheeks and ears. He felt hot. He pushed his palm into his forehead, shutting his eyes and willing away the images that kept flashing themselves to him- amethyst eyes crinkled in a sinister (but oh so attractive) smile, lips moving closer and brushing against his, and strong hands reaching up to tangle themselves in blonde locks. Why, he thought, am I dreaming about Braginski?

Alfred was not attracted to men, no sir. He loved women and everything about them, damnit! From their long hair to their soft skin, he was attracted to women. He didn't currently have a girlfriend, but that didn't mean anything. He was just selective, and most girls were too high strung for him, and too slow for his fast paced life style. His last relationship had been a disaster. The girl had been clingy and desperate. She was attractive as a model, with the personality of a wedged pineapple. But, Alfred had overlooked that because she was popular like him, and she was beautiful. Ignoring what his mother had always said about looks never being as important as personality, he had courted her for a month before she consented. It took another two months for him to get up the courage to dump her, and then three more to get her to stop leaving creepy love notes on his front door, or burned into the lawn outside his apartment.

Alfred kicked back the covers to get rid of the suffocating feeling they were giving him. He put his legs over and curled his toes into the plush carpeting. The alarm clock next to him read 3:48 AM. He decided to get some water. Silently sneaking into the kitchen he grabbed his favorite Captain America glass and filled it.

Matthew had forgotten to shut the curtains, and so Alfred had a perfect view of Ivan's balcony. There was still a light on, and Alfred could vaguely make out the hunched over form of the Russian man. He squeezed his eyes to try to focus more; he didn't even notice his glass spilling over until it came in contact with his feet and he jumped in surprise. "Fuck!" he tried not to slip on the water, and bounced over to the counter to get some paper towels. He bent down and cleaned up the mess he had stupidly made, before sipping on his glass and taking another daring look at Ivan's apartment.

The man was not sitting with his head in his hands; in another moment he had scooted back his chair and walked over to his own windows. Alfred ducked, so he wouldn't be seen and peeked around the counter hoping the cover of night would keep him from being found out. Ivan tapped his fingers on the glass before grabbing the curtain on either side, whipping them shut. The lights went out in the living room, and then five minutes later it was completely dark all over. Alfred stayed put for a long time, his eyes focusing on the room where the last light in Ivan's apartment had been. His bedroom…

The blonde boy pushed his glasses up his nose and stood up finally. On his way to his room he kept wondering what compelled him to spy on Ivan, and why he had stared at his bedroom for so long… He crawled into bed with his mind racing; putting his glasses on his bedside table he counted his ceiling fan spins until he realized he was thirsty and had forgotten his water in the kitchen. "Fuck…"

TBC. X Review please?


	3. Chapter 3

Art of War Chapter 3

Ivan scribbled his signature on the remainder of the papers and slapped the manila folder shut. He leaned back in his office chair and rubbed his temples, trying to rid himself of the pesky headache he'd had for hours. Work had been hectic the past two days; dealing with paperwork was definitely not his favorite pastime, but Toris had been on overload and he tended to panic when it got to be too much for him. So, on top of keeping to his daily rituals, three guided tours a day, helping Toris whenever possible, and tutoring Alfred he hardly had time to sleep.

The stress was catching up. Luckily, all the paperwork was done and the museum was slow today so perhaps he would be able to leave early. He glanced at his watch and sniffed at how fast time flew by. He would need to be home rather soon to eat dinner; maybe do a short jog before it got dark, and then Alfred would be over around nine to study.

A small smile worked its way onto Ivan's face. Teaching Alfred was actually the one thing he was enjoying this past week. The boy was eager, but easily distracted. He had taken notes whenever Ivan talked, and asked many questions when he did not understand. Alfred was always happy, and always a pleasure to be around. Ivan found that he could let go of his day's worries when the younger boy was in his company. Teaching was Ivan's greatest pleasure, and being able to teach someone who yearned to learn it so-even if it was just for class!- was wonderful.

Ivan packed up the remainder of his things, and the manila folder which he would slip under Roderich's door on his way out. He stifled a yawn as he walked out his office door, shutting it behind him and making his way to the museums front. Toris was filing through paperwork at his own desk, while customers exited the museum escorted by Ludwig Beillschmidt, the security guard. Ludwig caught Ivan's eye as he exited the employee only area and nodded promptly. Ludwig was a nice fellow, Ivan thought, and a good friend to go drinking with. A bit on the odd side, and a little high strung- not unlike himself, he supposed- but a nice, calm, responsible person….He wished he could say the same for his boyfriend Feliciano Vargas.

Ivan placed the manila folder on Toris's desk, accidentally scaring the smaller man. "Oh gosh," he breathed, hand at his heart. His eyes landed on the completed files, and he smiled widely. "Ivan you are my hero! How can I ever repay you?" he asked, bubbling with happiness. He looked at Ivan admirably, causing the Russian's eyes to widen in shock. He shook his head, and made no mention of a payback. He did not expect it, nor need it. Quickly, he made his way from Toris's desk.

As Ivan approached the door Ludwig was ushering people out he smiled his crooked, creepy smile. "Good evening, Mr. Beillschmidt." He kept his voice light and airy; however it did not stop a slight crease pass along Ludwig's brow. It quickly vanished and was replaced with a small, nearly invisible smile. Ludwig's signature. "How was everything today?" he continued, switching his briefcase to the other hand.

Ludwig grunted, and raised his shoulders. "Alright, I suppose. Not much action; never is, though. You busy tonight? Gilbert has been begging me to go to that new bar downtown." Ludwig answered in his thick German accent. For moving to America so few years ago his English was extremely advanced- perhaps moreso than Ivan's. Ludwig was tall and broad, barrel-chested, with bright, severe blue eyes, high cheekbones, a thin mouth, and immaculate blonde hair. He took very good care of his appearance, and when the two did not drink they sometimes went running together in the nearby parks. Ivan, for all his worth, would struggle to keep up with the German who would urge him onwards in his native tongue.

"I am supposed to tutor later on." Ivan answered, slightly deflated. Drinking sounded much more fun than studying, even if it _was_ for a good cause. It was a Friday, and it had been so long since he had gone anywhere that was not work, the grocery store, or his own apartment.

"Could you perhaps cancel? Gilbert is not very fun to drink with, and I can hardly handle him when he is sober," Ludwig murmured, scratching the back of his head idly. Gilbert was Ludwig's half-brother. Tall, wiry, albino and loud were the best ways to describe dear Gilbert. The man was Prussian, and so he disliked Ivan greatly; he would go on for hours about Russia's abusive past relationship with his homeland, calling him a 'fucking commie bastard'. Sometimes when he drank he would steal Ludwig's phone and drunk dial Russia. It was quite the humorous adventure whenever Gilbert was around.

Ivan hummed softly to himself. "I suppose I could. After all, a day off cannot hurt. Let me go tell my student and I'll give you a call later. Shall I come pick you up at your house? Is Feliciano coming as well?" he asked quickly, checking his watch and looking into the coffee shop beyond the doors of the museum. He could see a blonde head bobbing behind the bar, making drinks and practically throwing them at customers. He smiled softly, and then turned back to Ludwig whose brow was furrowed in confusion.

"Something interesting out there, Braginski?" he asked, unlocking the door so Ivan could exit.

"You have no idea, Beillschmidt." He replied with a sardonic grin, and made his way to the coffee shop across the street.

X

Alfred F. Jones twirled around while he made coffee. His philosophy was: make everything as fun as possible. And, also, to always be the hero! He sprinkled some coconut shavings onto the whipped cream and popped on the lid before calling out the customer's name and placing it on the bar. It wasn't super busy, actually pretty slow for a Friday, but he liked to pretend it was always super, duper, uber crowded so that time went by faster.

This, he also believed in.

The bell over the door rang, and he turned to face the newest customer with a grin plastered on his face. "Hey there! Welcome to-" but when he saw who it was he immediately brightened ten-fold. Ivan Braginski- his sexy, older, Russian, tutor, neighbor, and invader of dreams- had just stepped into his coffee shop! He leapt out from behind the counter, ignoring the stares of his two other co-workers and some wayward customers who still lingered. "Ivan! You came to the shop!"

"Da," he said, nodding his head, "I wish to speak with you if you are not busy?" he asked. Alfred swooned slightly at his accent and formality. When he realized his was staring he blushed and ambled back behind the cash wrap. Ivan followed him, his eyes roving the menu curiously.

"Can I get you anything?" Alfred asked eagerly, bouncing on the tips of his feet.

"Let me think. May I have a small, iced coffee?" he asked, reaching for his wallet. Alfred's hand came out of nowhere slapping it away. Ivan jumped, and glared at the younger boy. Had he just been slapped? Honestly?! "What did you do that for, Mr. Jones?"

"Alfred! And, you aren't paying. This one is on the house; I'll even make it for you." He proudly claimed, writing Ivan's name on the cup and then turning his back to prepare the beverage. Ivan watched the boy work with much excitement. He hummed loudly to himself, and finished off the drink with flourish before handing it to Ivan. Alfred smiled at Ivan expectantly, and the Russian took a tender sip.

It was very good, he had to admit. "Thank you, Alfred."

"So whatcha need to talk about?"

"I shall need to cancel our tutoring session tonight," Alfred's face fell, and Ivan felt terribly bad for it for some reason. "I, uh, I have not been very sociable lately and was asked to go out with some friends tonight. I hope that is acceptable? It is by no means your fault, I just would like some time off."

Alfred brightened once more, that beautiful smile gracing his face. "Oh! That's totally cool, man. I could use some downtime as well!" Then all of a sudden his face fell once more, and he tentatively asked, "Are you….is it like a date?" Ivan nearly choked on his coffee. Had he truly just asked that?

"Uhm, no. I don't really date." Ivan answered, looking anywhere but at Alfred. This was quite awkward for Ivan. To be honest, since he had been tutoring the young American he had been, well, having lurid dreams with his as the star. The Russian man had never had dreams like that, even when he _did_ date. However, he was smart enough to disband any thoughts that this could be…anything. Alfred was much too young; it was much too inappropriate. It would never work.

Alfred didn't notice the way Ivan's face flushed with blush at the question. He did smile very brightly once more, making Ivan feel very hot in the face indeed. "No? That's a shame. You're not a bad looking guy," he admitted, his grin stretched ear to ear. Ivan coughed into his hand and tossed his empty coffee cup in the trash can. "You know, from an entirely heterosexual perspective and all." he replied a moment later to save himself.

"That's very sweet, Alfred. Thank you."

"Anytime, teacher." The American replied quickly. Then the thought of Ivan teaching him certain, uhm…._things_ weaseled its way into his brain. Both stared at each other, their faces alight with a healthy blush. Silence passed between them for what seemed like ages until a customer haughtily demanded Alfred serve them, and he had to say goodbye to his neighbor.

Ivan left the coffee shop wondering what had made Alfred blush, or say anything that nice about him. He felt a small smile work onto his face, and he turned it to the sidewalk where a child saw it and burst into tears.

X

"What the fuck took you bitches so long?" Gilbert called out to the duo from where he stood against the bars outside walls. Ivan heard Ludwig sigh deeply, saw his shoulders sag in frustration and he put a comforting hand on his friends shoulder. Gilbert had a cigarette in his mouth that he puffed on without a care. His red eyes searched all passersby, directing a wink and a grin to any beautiful woman who happened to walk by.

Ivan admitted, if only to himself, that Gilbert was not an unattractive man. He was just so weird. He was a lacrosse teacher for the local high school, had a penchant for vulgarity, and the word 'awesome'. His sense of fashion was beyond anything that Ivan would deem as classy or appropriate attire for public wear: tonight he sported black skinny jeans, cowboy boots, and a white v-neck.

Ludwig said what Ivan only thought, "What the hell are you wearing East?" Ivan chuckled loudly, earning him a glare from the Prussian.

"The fuck are you laughing at you commie bastard?"

"A pleasure, as always, Gilbert."

"I don't know why West puts up with your un-awesome self when he has such an awesomely awesome_ bruder_ like me!" he flicked ash from his cigarette onto Ivan's leather shoes. The man took a deep breath, willing himself not to punch Gilbert's face in for being such an uncultured asshole. Instead, he cocked his head and replied,

"Your vocabulary is as daunting as ever." He let his eerie smile do the rest of the work; the visible discomfort by the two brothers was more than enough of a reward. He sent an apologetic look Ludwig's way, though, because the man already had a lot on his plate without thinking the Russian was pissed at him. "Shall we go in? I'm quite parched." He leaned a little to the left to see inside the club. It was packed; strobe lights flashed, loud music thumped, and bartenders whirled about making drinks for the patrons.

He was craving vodka, and from the look on Ludwig's face he was in desperate need of a beer. And so the three made their way inside: Gilbert whooping and making a scene (without any alcohol in him either), Ludwig cursing at him in fast German to be silent and act like an adult, and Ivan idly wondering what his pupil was doing on his night off.

X

"How…how many wassat?" Gilbert slurred, dropping the now empty shot glass onto the table. His red eyes glazed, and his eyelids drooped. Ivan placed down his own shot glass next to Gilbert's toppled one. He cast a glance to their third member, Ludwig, who was currently passed out with half of a beer clenched in his hands. Gilbert and Ivan burst out laughing all at once. "Y'aren't so un-awesome for a red," Gilbert conceded, slapping the Russian on the back heartily, sending Ivan forward into the table.

Ivan beckoned the bartender for two more shots, and Gilbert cat-called at a group of girls who were gyrating on the dance floor. They giggled and blew kisses in his direction, causing him to wink at Ivan and abandon the table. Ivan watched him go, wishing he was more the outgoing type like that Prussian.

As he pondered this, the bartender brought over the two shots he had ordered and placed them before him. She smiled at him, batter her eyelashes seductively. Before she walked away she crooned, "Enjoy, cutie!" to which Ivan stared with wide lavender eyes. Huh, maybe he did still have it.

Taking both shot glasses he downed them both with ease only to find that it made his world spin. Oh yes, he was far too inebriated to drive himself home. He checked his watch noticing it was 1:38 AM, and that also, it said that three different times…

"Fuck…" he groaned, running a hand through his white hair and looking into the crowd of dancers for Gilbert. But instead of seeing the red-eyed Prussian he saw Alfred Jones standing mere inches from his table. "A-alfred?!" he squeaked while squinting his eyes to see if he was perhaps hallucinating.

"Mr. B! Fancy meeting you here!" the blonde happily cried, bounding into the empty seat next to Ivan. Alfred's blonde hair glowed under the dim lighting, and clung to his face as sweat dripped down his face, and his sapphire eyes sparkled mischievously.

"You've…you've ben danshing?" he slurred, trying to remember how to keep his composure, but far too drunk to do it well.

"Yeah," Alfred chuckled, "You should give it a try. It's a lot of fun!" Alfred's eyes traveled over the larger man. He was most definitely shit-faced, no doubt about that. He noted the way Ivan's accent shown more, the way his eyes were hazy and heavily lidded, and how when he smiled at Alfred it was truly a genuine smile. Best of all was the way he was focused entirely on Alfred in the moment. Nothing else seemed to exist, and the world faded.

"I only ballroom dansh-_hic_- unfortunately. T-this gyrating and humping is a m-mockery of the great art that IS danshing…" he waved his hand dismissively at the crowd behind him.

"I bet you are a wonderful fancy dancer!" Alfred joked. He couldn't imagine Ivan dancing; he was such a tall, strongly built man and ballroom dancing was so…elegant!

"Da, I am. What're you doing her?"

"You mean here?"

"Don't mock me."

"Some friends invited me, and I figured I would tag along." He shrugged his shoulders.

"Have you been consuming alcohol-alcoholic bevrages?" Ivan asked, cocking a sleek eyebrow as Alfred began stacking the discarded shot glasses on the table into a tower. Ludwig snored once, very loudly, and startled the two. Alfred got so shocked that he jumped and knocked over Ludwig's beer right into the Russian's lap.

The two stood up quickly, sending shot glasses rolling. Ivan gasped at the beer that was not drenched into his jacket and slacks. Alfred began to apologize profusely while frantically searching for anything to help clean up. "I'm so sorry, Ivan!"

"It's…it was an accident, Alfred…It's not a big deal," he slurred, stumbling clumsily on his feet. Alfred saw this and grabbed into his hand to steady him. The two paused, and looked each other in the eye. Neither said anything and neither moved for a moment. "I think I should…go home." Ivan commented, making himself look away. The thoughts he was having were impure, wrong and so, so, so tempting…

Alfred nodded, "Let me drive you. My friends can catch a cab." Ivan didn't protest as he was led out of the club by Alfred who still held onto his hand.

X

Alfred unlocked Ivan's door and went to get him some water and saltines. The Russian stumbled in moments later, grumbling about how he felt horrible and should not have drunk so much. Alfred followed Ivan as he walked back to his bedroom, flicked on the lights and collapsed onto his bed, laying his face in his hands.

I'm in Ivan's room, Alfred thought, the moment being almost too surreal. It was neat, tidy and very quaint. There was a bed pushed against the wall, a dark nightstand with matching dresser. A Russian flag hung on the wall, as did pictures of Russia and the same people from the pictures in his office at the museum. He had a small radio on the nightstand and Alfred kicked it on for something; he needed background noise.

How often, lately, had he dreamt he was in this exact room? Too many to count, honestly. He continued to look around in amazement when he heard his name being called softly. "Uh, I'm s-sorry Mr. B. What's up?" He walked over to Ivan and bent down a little to meet his eyes. Even sitting down Ivan was almost as tall as Alfred when he was slightly bent.

"Water, please." He mumbled, and Alfred handed the glass to him with shaky hands. Ivan's hand brushed against Alfred's soft skin. And then, suddenly, it was too much. Maybe it was the alcohol, or the loneliness, or the way Alfred was always so pleased to see him… Whatever it was, it caused Ivan to grab onto Alfred's wrist instead of the glass and pull him down so that he could push his lips against the younger boys.

Alfred let the glass fall- thank GOD it was plastic!- and fell into Ivan. Ivan fell to his back on the bed, bringing Alfred down on top of him. They could feel each other's hearts pounding in their chest as they kissed- mouth open, exploring, eager, and needing. Alfred had never kissed another male, but it felt so good to be kissing Ivan. He pushed his body harder into the older mans, and Ivan responded with a low groan and grabbing fistfuls of blonde hair.

Alfred took his own hands and wormed them under Ivan's shirt to touch his skin. His skin burnt where Alfred touched, and he arched up into the younger boy, who grabbed his hips so hard that his nails began to dig into the perfect, pale skin. Before Alfred could do anything, Ivan flipped him over so that the American was now on bottom.

They broke contact, panting with swollen lips. Sapphire blue met electric lavender and there was something in Alfred's eyes that begged, simply _begged_, for more of whatever Ivan had to offer. There was no fear, no resistance or apprehension. And in Ivan's eyes Alfred saw trepidation, worry and fear. But he also saw desire, and a spark he had never seen cross the gazes of the girls he had been with…

That more than anything was what cause Alfred to place a hand at the back of Ivan's neck and pull him back down into a searing kiss.

This was wrong.

This was amazing.

This was so, so, so inappropriate.

But, it felt so good. And something that felt _this_ damn good could not be bad… Right?

TBC.


End file.
